Not Knowing What Tomorrow Brings
by Travithian Axile
Summary: Vergil is in search of a legend: Temennigru. But first, he has to get past the guardian seals. prequel to DMC3. UPDATED! Sorry for taking so long. Here's a long fight scene for your patience.
1. In Search Of A Legend

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry, Devil May Cry 3, Dante, Vergil, and all relevant persons are the property of Capcom and this humble piece of fiction is only my own contribution to one of the greatest games ever made or played.

Summary: My version of Code 2: "Vergil". I've always wondered what he was up to before Devil May Cry 3…not, in any way, related to my other fic, Brother Never Cry. Standalone.

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**DEVIL MAY CRY**

**NOT KNOWING WHAT TOMORROW BRINGS**

**CHAPTER ONE:**

**IN SEARCH OF A LEGEND**

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His steps echoed in the corridor, which had long lain silent and empty since the defeat of the demons. Things which had been there for the years so unkind to mortal beings stirred drowsily ere his feet passed, leaving a trail in the swirling, clogging dust. The walls remembered many things, and as the intruder—as he felt he was—trod upon centuries of grit, he fancied he heard the fading screams of thousands of victims, the low, throbbing chant of the priests who had come here to revere the power that had once filled there unholy caverns with its wrathful might. He shook his head quickly. He was not one to engage in such foolish fancies. The dead were dust, and long gone; and that was that.

A thin smile curved his lips. Yet he was here, to disturb that which should be sleeping—vanished, and forgotten, from the minds of men. But there were those who had not forgotten, and desired such a return. He was one of them, but for different reasons; those who thought he aided them would be shocked and scandalized to know his true thoughts…

He stopped, the dust falling to rest gently on his boots, and took a slow look around. What am I doing, he asked himself. Deep underground, in search of a legend. A dream eroded by the inexorable march of time. It might have seemed foolish for lesser men, but he was no normal man that dreamt of petty power. He wanted the real thing, to armor himself in it and shield his vulnerabilities. Power; that was what his kind respected, down to the lowliest imp.

He wanted the head of the Demon King.

He scowled and chastened himself. He was still far from such a thing, and a dream it was and would remain, until he had succeeded in his quest. Arkham was a fool if he believed that Vergil would not kill him; once the gate was unlocked Vergil intended to do away with a human that was rapidly and annoyingly outgrowing whatever usefulness he had offered Vergil. The man was thinking far above himself, and Vergil distrusted men of ambition. After all, he was one himself, and look where it had gotten him.

He smiled, but did not chuckle; the darkness contained many things he was not anxious to disturb, and he had a healthy respect for anything that had survived this long. He continued his silent trek through the eerie stillness that was a perfect backdrop for the sounds his imagination—his all too human imagination—continued to conjure up. The underground passages were wreathed in ghostly, tomblike silence that seemed to him like the waiting breath before the snake struck to swallow its victim whole; an anticipatory, living silence that gnawed away at his rational mind—

He was doing it again. Vergil swiftly reassessed his opinion of his human weaknesses. Perhaps the hidden passages were enchanted to make it so, to infuse all humans unprotected against the voice of evil with such screaming fear that they could never venture a step in; the perfect and most suiting weapon the Demon King could hope to use.

Was not Temen-ni-gru, after all, a monument to fear?

He walked on; now the darkness fell away into deep puddles of black in the corners before a pale, frail light that shone on somewhere before him. It was, of course, arcane in origin; he was too far underground for it to be an innocent ray of sunlight that had somehow penetrated through the layers of protection swathed around Temen-ni-gru's resting place like a shroud, assuming that sunlight was even allowed in the chambers of the Demon King in the first place. He was after all, darkness incarnate, and sunlight might have offended his delicate sensibilities and sense of theatricality. He smirked to himself as he walked, his boots sloshing through something that he pointedly kept his gaze away from.

The chill, murky air of the caverns thus far grew warmer the more he approached the light. The reassuring weight of the tachi did much to bolster his confidence; fingers around Yamato's hilt in a firm grip, he edged nearer. He turned a corner…and found the source of the light. The mouth of the next cave, i.e. the exit, was completely plugged with white, softly glowing marble. Vergil did not bother to smash it in, much less touch it; it was undoubtedly blessed and would cause him much unnecessary agony should he attempt to do so. Instead he knelt close, his face betraying its inner revulsion as the light trickled over his skin in pulsing waves. The demon inside snarled and withdrew from the holy radiance.

No doubt this was the first guardian seal. Vergil sat back and mused. Arkham had been annoyingly vague about the nature of the seals, though he had hinted that Vergil would be able to take care of them without too much of a fuss. Vergil suspected that Arkham was unsure himself, but was much too proud to admit him.

Vergil dismissed him with a shake of his head. Gritting his teeth in expectation of pain, he reached out and very quickly brushed the tips of his fingers against the warm marble. Warm, and living beneath his hand, and oddly soft…

He jerked his hand away with a startled gasp that he could not control. Bright light flared all about him, blinding him for a moment, then sharp pain wracked his innards with exquisite thoroughness. Yamato was out and sweeping before him before he knew what he was doing, and was rewarded with a hot explosion of blood that awakened the demon self. Vergil screamed as the demon within rose, tasting blood and hungry for more—and kept on rising, through his throat, in a burst of luminous cobalt. As the crested demon swayed on its clawed feet, poised to strike, the white light died and shrunk, coalescing into the form of a small dragon-like creature with pearly, almost translucent scales that seemed almost feathery, standing aloft on its two hind legs. Its pale eyes shone hotly like two stars, large and liquid, with a disturbing human quality. On its front, the beautiful purity of its scales gave way to smooth, feminine breasts reduced to a bloody mess where steaming, viscous fluid the hue of amethysts dripped slowly from the deep gash. The little lamia seemed oblivious to the wound; its small but still lethal teeth were bared in a threatening growl.

It lunged, its sleek little head questing ahead to seek his vulnerable spots. The demon did not let it; he executed a perfect turn in the air, over the head of the lamia, and landed with a wet squelch on the ground. The lamia's jaw lifted, and with a high bark expelled a ghostly sphere that gleamed with a pallid and rather unnerving glow. The demon slashed at it with the tachi, but it continued on its merry way towards him. Being equipped with instincts that assured him that whatever the sphere was, it meant no good, the demon was forced to retreat. It was not too stupid to back up against the seal, though. With a neat little roll, the demon avoided the ball, which expended itself against the luminous seal, and seized the opportunity to slash at the lamia's legs. Unperturbed by the wound, the lamia snaked forward to fasten its sharp teeth around the demon's arm. Enraged, the demon struck at the minute creature, hanging off his arm like some demonic version of the domestic vicious puppy. Long claws raked the side of the monster, but it hung on with childish stubbornness. A tail more whippy than it looked flashed up, and the demon narrowly avoided losing an eye to the vicious barbs that lined the end. The tachi sword flashed once, as it carefully slid through the chest of the lamia.

Its jaws loosened, it fell, a stiff little statue. Eyes the color of pigeon's down stared blindly into eternity as the skull bounced once against the floor. The demon, bored, slid back down into slumber, leaving behind the human. Vergil backed away warily, Yamato raised threateningly. He couldn't believe that it had been _that _easy—

The first guardian twitched, and so did Vergil's lips, in a wry smile.

But of course. He'd have expected nothing less from his father.

The lamia raised its head. Its eyes were lifeless and dead as river stones. He should have realized, when he had first beheld those orbs. The lamia had been dead for a very long time, until he'd awoken it from its ages-old slumber, to rise to the duty commanded of it. Time had no precedence here; its shining coat of steel-edged feathers still glittered like diamonds in the aura of the seal.

It flowed forward, not awkwardly and stumbling like so many undead had been, a testament to the quality of the reanimation spell. Its eyes burned in the darkness, not with life, but with the power of the seal it had been bound with. Vergil opened his arms and let the change overtake him; then he sprung—onto the back of the lamia. Its seemingly soft feathers cut valleys of blood in the palms of his clawed hands as he got a good grip on its mane. The lamia spat with furious protest, the barbed tail flinging up years of slime from the cavern floor in vain. The demon let the pain spur him on; his huge hands engulfed the lamia's slender throat. The lamia attempted to roll, but its body had been built precisely to avoid being overbalanced and thrown over, and now it was finding it hard to lose its footing purposely, even more so with the demon guiding it. His hands squeezed, and tore, cutting off brutally the squealing scream of the young lamia. The dismembered head was flung into a distant corner, and with ruthless efficiency the demon proceeded to tear the rest of the lamia to pieces. Even beheaded, the body was putting up a furious fight; one flailing claw cut right through the demon's skulled visage and glanced off his fangs. After the body had been ripped into several pieces, Yamato went to work, chopping the squirming pieces even as they attempted, slug-like, to reunite with their fellows.

Vergil had not been watching the head. It had been a careless gesture; as he strode past, the severed head flung itself from its resting position with remarkable agility and the delicate maw slipped around his neck neatly. The teeth were drawn against the throat with painful tightness, and Vergil's first instinct, which he acted upon, was to claw at the clamped teeth with both hands. He soon discovered the futility of this, and by that time the jagged teeth were drawing near the jugular vein with eager rapidity. His own teeth bared in a snarl, Vergil threw himself backwards, against the hard cavern wall, and was rewarded with a sickening crunch and a growing spot of wetness on his coat. But the damned head did not release its grip. Again, he slammed himself into the stone, his bruised body crying out in protest. Finally, after such intensive battering, the merciless jaws ceased its assault and became still, locked around his throat in a death grip. Gingerly, Vergil pried it apart and let it fall to the ground, whereupon the impact turned it into a small pile of dust. The rest of its body proceeded to follow it into dust, and eventually even that was gone.

A small, plaintive whisper remained. "…Magister, why do you harm your own…?"

The seal glowed fiercely with a throbbing light. Bright and dark it pulsated, and finally a scorching radiance that tore at Vergil's eyes such that he was forced to shut his eyes against the glare. A booming sound vibrated his eardrums, and when he opened his eyes at last, blinking the spots away, the seal lay sundered at his feet, leaving the way ahead clear. Vergil cast a disdainful look at the lifeless rubble littering the entrance and entered without another look back.

He had broken the first seal.

Deeper within the labyrinthine confines of the resting place of the Tower of Fear, the remaining seals flared, as though mourning the loss of their brother. Then they quietened, the imprisoned monsters within shifting restlessly in their slumber. Waiting.

Behind the last seal, Temen-ni-gru did not move. But it, and its inhabitants, knew of the destruction of the first seal. And they, too, waited.

Soon.

_**end Chapter One. **_

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Author's Ending Note: Ever since the arrival of DMC3 Special Edition, I've been stricken with a revival of interest in DMC. Hence this story. (I know I'm going to regret it. I know I will, when I'm stricken with writer's block instead.) Anyway, I hope for some honest and helpful feedback which will tell me exactly what you like and don't like about this story. It's all for your sake, you understand.

T. Axile.

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	2. The Legend Comes Alive

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry, Devil May Cry 3, Dante, Vergil, and all relevant persons are the property of Capcom and this humble piece of fiction is only my own contribution to one of the greatest games ever made or played.

Summary: My version of Code 2: "Vergil". I've always wondered what he was up to before Devil May Cry 3…not, in any way, related to my other fic, Brother Never Cry. Standalone.

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**DEVIL MAY CRY**

**NOT KNOWING WHAT TOMORROW BRINGS**

**CHAPTER TWO:**

**THE LEGEND COMES ALIVE**

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It was colder here, and the air tasted thick and slimy and sluggish, as though it had lain still for a long time. On the threshold of the first measure, Vergil stood and gazed upon the newly revealed cavern. A better word would be _hall. _Packed earthen walls rose into shadows, and the path stretched on as far as the eye could see. Here and there the gigantic bones of some long-dead beast protruded, white and shining, out of the sides, gleaming with pearl-like radiance. More bones littered the ground, some as large as titans, some small enough to belong to a human. All of them had been stripped clean and gleamed ivory. Something small and black skittered over the remains and hid in the safety of the shadows.

Vergil passed them without a glance, dismissed them as worthless. He was careful to skirt the scattered bones, however; one never knew what tricks the creators of Temen-ni-gru had had up their sleeves. After a while, he realized that the bones in the walls were gargantuan _ribs_…and looking high above, he could make out the outlines of something dark and shriveled, clearly organic in nature ahead of him. Then it moved, and in the luminescence of the bones he could see thousands of white, squirming things covering it, leaping over one another, devouring each other…

He was in a ribcage of a creature so impossibly monstrous that it could have swallowed the city of Los Angeles and still have space to spare. He wondered how it had died, if it had been the last of its kind. Those that had built Temen-ni-gru had taken its bones and used them as structures to prop up this hall, whose purpose had long since faded away into dust and forgotten memory.

Ahead of him, the sounds of rushing water grew louder. A bestial silhouette invited him onwards, the jaws of the enormous, horned skull laying against the wall gaping wide to reveal

An underground river, several feet below the wide crack that had sundered the wall long ago. White, frothy water swirled agitatedly as the current carried it to its destination with killing velocity. Black, jagged rocks stood like proud sentinels amid the rapids. Several glistening things leaped in and out of the water with seeming ease. The walls below had been smoothed by years of erosion and were green with moss. Vergil fancied he could feel the spray on his face as he stood leaning forwards.

He considered, looking back at the long walk he had ahead of him, and then at the boiling river, that was going in the same direction he was heading. There were risks, there always were. But time was a precious commodity he could ill-afford to waste.

He made up his mind. He removed his coat, tied it around his waist. Gripping Yamato firmly in one hand, he pushed himself feet first through the opening and plunged into the icy water. He had barely time to take a deep breath before the water met him, hard. The shock blasted his eyes wide and his mouth filled with water, cold and bitter-tasting on his tongue. He sank into the water with the force of a plunging boulder, his white hair floating around his head like a ghostly halo. The water propelled him onward, smashed him against an unyielding surface. Vergil stifled his scream, keeping his lips firmly shut. Using his prodigious strength, he pushed himself to the surface, where he found another boulder hurtling at him with crushing force. Vergil Triggered, and a blow from his fist sent the boulder flying away in black shards. Vergil slipped beneath the surface again, scraping against the cavern walls. Fortunately the stone was so smooth that he received no cuts, but the jarring sensation disoriented him and enabled his attacker to seize him around his ankle and drag him deeper.

It was a translucent, fishlike demon of sorts, resembling a mutated piranha with two, skinny grasping arms that ended in wicked, serrated claws. The demon's armor protected him from the worst of it, but the blood that made it out of the wound seemed to send the fish demon into a greater frenzy. Sharp teeth hungry for him snapped, and the slow, dim-witted eyes filled with bloodlust.

Vergil reached for it.

Agony tore through his side and back, and Vergil could barely restrain the cry that threatened to burst out of his sealed lips. He was human again, and blood was soaking his clothes and staining the clear water crimson. More piranha were attacking, and his soft human flesh was vulnerable. Holding his breath, Vergil swept Yamato from its sheath, demonic strength and rage driving the blade against the resistance of the water, and sliced his first opponent in twain. Some of the piranha demons diverted from the pack to shred their still-living comrade into smaller pieces, but the remaining gazed upon Vergil with ravenous eyes. No doubt he was the first appetizer to drop himself so conveniently in their river for a long while. They had probably survived by breeding prodigiously and then eating each other.

They came at him, jagged teeth gnashing and clawed hands reaching out with startling swiftness. Vergil rolled away from them, and the current drove him with shocking strength into the wall again. Breath whooshed past his lips in a gasp, and he choked on the water in his lungs. He braced his feet against the wall, and pushed, rocketing upwards, followed by a cloud of blood that the piranhas went after like hounds on a scent. Vergil had only time for a desperate intake of air before he went back under. Flashing, wet bodies piled on him, sharp teeth digging into his flesh. He gritted his teeth against the pain and transformed again, and the piranhas suddenly found their teeth clicking against tough, scaly flesh instead. Vergil flung his arms outwards, hurling multiple demon-fish from him before getting to work with Yamato. Sliced, pale bodies filled the water, and the demon host began to retreat, unwilling to go after a target that was apparently armed with a sharp fang and had indigestible meat. Make that **really** sharp…was the last dim thought of another piranha as it died under Yamato's blade. The demonic fish hesitated, then turned and retreated.

Weak from blood loss, Vergil let the demon sink back inside him and let the current carry him forward, avoiding the various rocks as much as possible. Finally, just as his legs were becoming numb from the water, Vergil spotted a ledge, a natural alcove hollowed out in the wall, and pulled himself onto it with no little difficulty. Wet and shivering, he closed his eyes but did not sleep. Not when the piranha were still around…

He slept.

He dreamed that he was a little boy again, running down the corridors of the Spardas' Victorian-style mansion, with his brother, the person he had loved only second to his mother. He remembered the flames clawing up the walls of the old house, burning away nine years of love and tranquil peace. He remembered his brother, running away, leaving Eva to die at the hands of the huge demon. Remembered the demon, whispering in its black-ghost voice, "Welcome your penance, Sparda's whore. The Demon King, Lord Mundus, sends his regards."

The huge, veined claws slitting her throat. The fire captured orange and crimson in her long fall of golden hair, fanned around her head. Its glorious hue tarnished with blood. The gash in his chest bleeding out his life, but not the hatred, or the helpless rage…

He woke up with his brother's name on his lips. Angry at his carelessness, angry at himself. Vergil froze the anger as he always did and buried it. Wrapping himself in his usual mask of impassiveness, Vergil gave himself a once-over and was pleased to find that his wounds had healed. As for the demonic piranha, either their fear of him had overcome their hunger or they had moved on. He preferred to think it was the former. Smiling tightly, he decided he preferred the former.

He went back into the water, and tried to pretend that the dampness in his eyes was only the river and nothing else…

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With methodical preciseness, the man laid out the results of his divinations, oblivious, or used to, the black flight of birds that were not birds that wheeled across the moon. Ever since his ally had gone underground, the demon community had sensed that…something…had changed, something was different, and it would involve them The killings had grown more violent, more predatory, and more careless. A trembling witness reported seeing a monster savaging the corpse of his daughter, a hysterical woman reported spotting a winged figure take flight off her neighbor's house. Said neighbor was found with his wife and children the next day in pieces. Literally. Their accounts had been put down to trauma and hysterics by those who were too blind to believe. The man smiled in contempt as he pored over his desk. Which was why he **deserved **to rise above the rest of the ignorant fools, because he had looked into the darkness and seen the power that thrived in the alleys of this very city.

So Vergil had passed the first guardian measure. Only to be expected, really. The man was amazed that Vergil could have claimed such a great legacy as his when he was so different from the man his father had been. Arkham despised Sparda but respected his strength and power. His son had the strength and subtlety, but none of the control of his father. Vergil had seen evil and his mind had broken at the sight of it. His soul pulled to its siren song, he had simply let himself be seduced. Arkham sneered again. He intended to make evil serve him, not the other way round. Not like his temporary partner.

Oh, he was well aware that Vergil intended to kill him when the time came. He held no grudge against Vergil for this. After all, was he not planning the very same thing for his so-called ally?

"Father…?" The girl's voice said. Startled—so wrapped up in his thoughts had he that he had not heard the library doors open, he swept some irrelevant papers over the incriminating documents on his table. His daughter stood there, his own eyes staring back at him from her pretty, freckled face. She was dressed in her school uniform, and sloppily; her tie hung loosely knotted and her blouse was untucked.

"Aren't you supposed to be at school, Mary?" he inquired neutrally.

The girl shrugged. "They released us early 'cos of the murders. School's going to be held off for another week." She did not look like she regretted it.

"Next time," he said, trying to keep his tone even, "You will knock before you enter this room."

Mary looked annoyed. "You stay cooped up here in this dusty library all day long," she blurted out as though the words had been pent up inside her. "Since when did you care more about some dumb _books _than your family?" There was a challenge in her mismatched eyes. "You haven't eaten dinner with us in weeks and you're always—"

Arkham slapped her. For a moment she looked stunned, a hand to her stinging cheek, looking oddly frail and vulnerable in her messy school uniform.

"You will not," Arkham told her, his voice low and measured, "presume to speak to me in this manner."

Anger blossomed in her eyes, stretched her lips into a snarl. Her lips moved, as though to speak, and then she dropped her gaze and spun away. Her feet stomped as she walked, and there was tension in the lines of her shoulders. Arkham smiled at her retreating back and slammed the door shut. This time, he locked it before returning to his studies.

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Wet again, Vergil dripped water on the banks of the river as he stretched to rid his limbs of the numbness that had evaded his being. Prickles of feeling danced along chilled muscles, sending pinpricks of pain through him. Vergil put on his coat again, which did no wonders for his aching body, but it made him a feel a little more like himself. He pushed his damp hair out of his eyes into the spikes he favored and surveyed his surroundings.

The cavern opened up into a wide chamber ahead, and he could see stalactites and stalagmites, gleaming greenish-blue. The water had molded the limestone over the centuries into strangely beautiful and abstract shapes, but it had definitely not been responsible for the lifelike, feral beasts that lined the wall like a formation of troops ready to attack. These had been carved by another agent, demonic or human, these statues of otherworldly creatures that must have formed part of the Demon King's army. A massive cat, its sleek body arched, roared defiantly into the air. A hell hound snapped its jaws at empty air. A dragon, its teeth as long as Vergil's forearm, lunged forward, claws raking and tails slashing. And there were others, demons of unidentifiable origin and shape whom Vergil could find no name for. But they were all armed with tooth and fang or weapon, and demonic in nature. They stood, in positions of attack, frozen into time, the details of their limestone bodies as sharp and crisp as the day they had been carved, demons all, their expressions filled with hatred. Vergil felt disconcerted to walk among them, and avoided touching them. They looked so real, he would not have been surprised if they had sprung from stone to life into the air and pounced upon him. Their blind eyes glittered in the glow…

The cavern rumbled. A massive adamantine door slid from its holdings and slammed shut, blocking Vergil's exit. At the same time, the passage leading to the river collapsed, cutting off his last way of retreat, leaving him alone with the unmoving, alien statues. The door flared, searing his eyes, and remained caught in the dead eyes of the various demons, now sputtering to life. Vergil looked upon the row of demons, all stirring as though from a long slumber, all awakened and dangerous as the real things. The feral cat yawned, and its long fangs flashed in the awaken power of the second seal.

He had found the next guardian measure. Or, rather, it had found him.

Vergil's hand jerked free Yamato, and the mastiff hurled its bulky body at him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Silently, the demons closed in, their eyes filled with unnatural animation, looking down at him.

_**end Chapter Two.**_

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Author's Ending Note: Thanks so much to the reviewers! Anyway, I heard that the English manga won't be released for another five, six months. Is that true? I can't bear the suspense, damnit! Oh, and sorry for the delay. What with the password on the com, and two tests practically every week, I've been drained dry. Sorry again.

T. Axile.

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	3. The Second Measure

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry, Devil May Cry 3, Dante, Vergil, and all relevant persons are the property of Capcom and this humble piece of fiction is only my own contribution to one of the greatest games ever made or played.

Summary: My version of Code 2: "Vergil". I've always wondered what he was up to before Devil May Cry 3…not, in any way, related to my other fic, Brother Never Cry. Standalone.

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**DEVIL MAY CRY**

**NOT KNOWING WHAT TOMORROW BRINGS**

**CHAPTER THREE:**

**THE SECOND MEASURE**

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The stone jaws of the hellhound clicked shut barely inches from his face. The eyes glowed with fiery, unnatural animation. The back of his head scraped against the uneven stone of the floor as Vergil fought to keep his hold, his hands clamped around the rough-hewn neck of the beast, keeping it at bay. For a living statue, its breath felt incredibly realistic—hot, brimming with sulphurous fumes, sharp and scalding on his skin.

His strength prevailed. Vergil rose unsteadily, maintaining his death grip around the mastiff's throat. The crimson eyes glared into his with blind hatred, its stone teeth gnashing together ineffectually. Its hind legs dug furrows into the floor as it strained forwards, long tail lashing against his limbs. Vergil matched its seething rage with a sneer of contempt and hurled it at the silent ring of watchful sentinels. It cleaved a path through them with a grinding crash and skidded to a stop on the floor in the darkness, beyond the circle of light. Its aura failed, and the otherworldly creatures that surrounded Vergil hissed in unison, bright red luminance flickering in their dead, flat eyes.

There came a whisper, borne to his ears, it seemed, by the restless beating of the dragon's wings. The serpent-like creature coiled itself snugly around a stalactite and spat at him, its long teeth gleaming like polished daggers. _Who are you—what are you—to come intruding—_

The presence of the sentience wavered, shimmered, sputtered, as it fled from one living statue to another, and its words came to Vergil in barks and growls and hisses, ancient words whose meaning was long lost to time, the dark, burning language of the demons. Vergil knew them all, the words twisting themselves into recognizable forms as they reached his brain—some sorcery he knew not of. The sentience was old and powerful, and what means of communication it possessed transcended the boundaries of comprehension. In any case, what mattered was that Vergil understood its words, and it understood his.

In answer he drew his blade and held it up. The strange light glimmered off the well-honed edge of his inherited sword, drawing the eye to it. In terms of beauty and prowess it was probably unmatched in the world. There could only be one sword like Yamato in the mortal plane, and the sentience probably knew this, from the sharp intake of breath that was immediately followed by a howl of anger.

_YOU!—I know you now—blood traitor—blood traitor—his blood—SPILL IT!_

The words seared through Vergil's mind, every syllable thick with compressed loathing and fury. He stumbled back, momentarily disoriented, and it was his undoing. A long, scaly body coiled around his foot with sudden force, jerking him backwards. He fought to keep his balance, cutting viciously at the snake that dragged him inexorably into the shadows, its ruby eyes glittering maliciously—

A flash of movement, to his right. Vergil spun and drove back a hooded-eyed sphinx with a series of slashes, but the retaliation cost him. As he was distracted, the snake squeezed tighter still, and he fell to one knee as his equilibrium shifted. His blood circulation cut off, his foot was beginning to go numb. The magical menagerie of monsters became bolder, ventured further into the circle of light. Vergil, despite the haze of pain clouding his mind, nevertheless noted how the luminosity of the sculptures' eyes faded and intensified whenever the spirit moved through them, how they did not move in unison, but raggedly, in twos and threes. _Interesting, _he realized, _it is the will of the guardian that animates them, and it can't control all of them at once. _Instantly, his agile brain began working on a solution. _At least the odds aren't too impossible. _

_Many years ago, by human reckoning, _the second guardian snarled, crazed, into his ear, _the great devil-knight Sparda betrayed our Lord and caused his downfall. With his sword he gathered up the legions of darkness and returned them to Hell. Those he did not he bound here to keep watch over the Gate for eternity. As I was. _The sentience laughed bitterly, insanely. _I have no choice. I cannot let you pass. _The eyes of the statues flared. _But I shall take immense pleasure in ripping you apart, spilling his blood. What would he think if his son were to die by his own hand? _The voice purred. _Oh, I forgot—but he is dead. But I imagine he would be very angry—angry and disappointed, hmm?_

Anger welled up within Vergil, cleared away the lingering fog of confusion the guardian's earlier mental attack had caused. "You know _nothing _of me," he grated through stiff lips. He set to work with Yamato, chopping viciously away at the snake that bound his leg. The snake reared, spreading his hood around its sinuous head. It struck. Vergil's hand snaked forward, caught it just behind the head. Yamato shrieked as it broke off a huge chunk of stone. Sparks rang off the stone. Vergil broke off the rest of the head easily. The rest of the body wavered, then collapsed, shattering as it hit the ground.

The mastiff was back. Its molten breath registered on his senses a split second before he twisted and received its fangs on his shoulder instead of his head. The hellish canine jerked its head sharply upwards, and Vergil almost passed out as bone grinded on bone and snapped. He almost dropped Yamato as pain lanced through his entire arm. The stone teeth, as sharp and strong as steel, tore through muscle and flesh. Wet, hot blood ran down his elbow. Vergil thrashed, but it was more than an instinctive reaction than anything else, his mind cold and calm as ever, studiously ignoring the frenzied signals his body was sending to him. He concentrated.

A clear, ringing sound, accompanied an instant later by a long-drawn cry. Blue-tinged phantom blades materialized out of thin air, sinking into the dog's body without visible resistance before exploding into glassy shards that spun away and out of existence. Lines of weakness spread around the hellhound's body, compromising its stability. Vergil kicked wildly, and his boots connected with the hellhound more often than not. Rock fragments rained upon him as the monster eventually disintegrated.

Then the agony came, like a starburst in his mind. The blood was spurting now, from the ragged wounds left behind by the hellhound's assault. He chanced a look at his shoulder and wished he hadn't—its lasting impression was a kaleidoscope of red and black and white—red like the bloody meat in a butcher's shop and white where the bone contrasted against the torn edges of skin. Exhaustion roiled over his body in waves—he _shouldn't—_he knew he shouldn't—but then he would die—wearily he stretched out his hand and called forth the demon.

It came eagerly, as it always did, as though it waited patiently in the wings of his soul for a chance to go out and play. He was tired, incredibly tired, and the demon picked up on it straight away. It was exhilarating, and horrible at the same time, to know that the demon was him and not-him, and even though they shared the same body, it seemed a separate entity entirely, all rippling muscle and raw power. Vergil sometimes wondered what would happen if he would ever lose control, of all that power, a double-edged blade that could cut his own hand.

The demon roared, a cry of defiance, at the creatures of the guardian. Overwhelmed, Vergil tried to wrestle back control, but his other, more feral self, was not listening. _I am the demon, _he thought distantly, somehow removed and far away from himself. _And yet why is there this conflict? _Human blood, always there, a gaping chasm between him and his rightful heritage…not that he had not loved his mother, he had loved Eva more than life itself, but there were times too when he hated her with a terrible passion for leaving him this legacy. Subconsciously he realized that there was no true division at all, only a deep-buried desire to be removed from the monster he was—and so his personality had split into twain, born out of a wish to escape and be ensnared at the same time.

The demon charged, Vergil's orderly thoughts scrambling up and jouncing around chaotically in a creature now designed to kill with brawn rather than brain. The stone effigies hurled themselves at his armored body with no avail. More like a spectator than a fighter, one part of Vergil's mind calmly evaluated, calculated. His body had not been in good shape to begin with, and even the demon was trembling slightly as it battled the sentience's bodies one-armed. Luckily, the dragon had not joined in the fight yet. It watched, as Vergil did, from its position.

_You can't win, _the dragon said.

What was it that the guardian had said? _Bound here. _A grizzly bear came spinning past, struck the wall with a sickening crunch. The demon growled in irritation at the set of claw marks across its arm. It turned to punch at a griffon, and a strange octopus-snail hybrid came oozing up from behind to spit acid into the demon's back. The demon yowled, its and Vergil's voice combined, as the volatile liquid ate unerringly into the scaly flesh.

_Once, _the guardian said, resentment bubbling through its not-voice like the acid—_I was strong and powerful. Once, I flew in the vanguard of His Majesty's army. _The dragon made a growling sound deep in its throat. _But HE ripped my soul from my body and imprisoned me to do his own work for him—ah, the pain, the humiliation—death is far too kind a fate for you._

The demon wasn't happy anymore. It staggered as it stood, shaking off the griffon. Like a petulant child whose favorite toy has cut him, the demon retreated into the depths of Vergil's mind, despite his vehement protests. As scales receded into flesh and the wings retracted, Vergil looked up to see the enormous fist of a golem coming right his way. The titan smashed him backwards, and Vergil landed with an audible crunch. He shook his head muzzily, already moving by the time the griffon's hooked beak swung past and smashed into the wall where he had fetched up again.

He swung about and avoided a swing from a harpy crouching half-hidden in an alcove halfway up the wall. Monstrous, forerunners of a world long locked away, they looked like the escapees of a zoo from Hell. Vergil's mind had long frozen itself against the horror of the creatures, but he could still appreciate their deadly beauty, the fineness of stonework. They could have been the living creatures themselves, brought here and locked into a prison of stone.

And most beautiful and dangerous of them all was the dragon. Cradling his wounded arm to his chest, Vergil bent and retrieved Yamato from the cavern floor even as a projectile whizzed past, brushed against his cheek, leaving a gash in the soft skin beneath his right eye that wept tears of blood. Whatever it was scattered in pieces harmlessly beyond, but Vergil did not notice that—he was too busy hurling himself aside as more bony missiles targeted him, spraying shards of bone that cut his face and hands.

He tightened his lips against his pain. He was his father's son. _He would not fail, _even if he had to spit in death's face to do it. "You want me?" he said through gritted teeth, staring into the smoldering orbs of the curled dragon. "Come get me." He took a few steps back, held Yamato ready. "That isn't just a body, is it?" he continued unerringly, keeping his gaze fixed on his foe. "That's your _real _persona, the one Sparda destroyed, by petrifying it. He then trapped you here, to keep your precious tower from being raised again…"

The dragon bristled, the spines on its back shivering as it tried to keep its composure. _Any idiot could surmise that from what I told you, betrayer's son, _the dragon whispered venomously. _Goading me won't work. I am above that._

_But you aren't above revenge, are you? _Vergil thought with a smirk he kept carefully concealed, noting the sharp, brittle edge in the dragon's mind-voice. Prodding usually wasn't his thing, it was more Dante's style, but it was a tactic he would have to employ here. He stepped back as the harpy landed in front of him, the feathers of her beautiful wings quivering in rage, matching the maddened look in the sentience' s voice. _Good. _Vergil parried her spear thrust with Yamato, and for a second both of them stood locked in a stalemate. The winged woman's lips curved in an empty smile, bright fires flickering in the blank sockets of her eyes.

Vergil stepped aside and let the griffon, head lowered to charge forth at his original position, barrel into her. He turned a decidedly contemptuous smile on the dragon. "You shouldn't trust in your extensions too much, _wyrm. _Don't you want me for yourself?" While the two creatures were thus engaged in extricating themselves, he whacked at the statues repeatedly with Yamato's hilt using his good arm—a crude method his warrior's spirit winced at, unfortunately a necessary action—while keeping up a steady barrage of phantom blades. Midway, his ghostly projectiles abruptly changed target, warning him of a new enemy presence. He focused, narrowing his gaze at a far corner—

And then he was no longer there, but in the niche he had concentrated his energies at, gasping with pain as his ruined shoulder collided with an overhanging stalactite, jostling it, sending waves of jagged, blazing pain spiraling out from that point. He was tempted to just tear the useless limb away and unburden himself, but there was something repugnant about the idea of simply discarding a part of himself that had served him for so long away, even if a new one would just grow back. Vergil did not have the luxury of arguing with himself, so he just let the issue pass.

The sentience had taken possession of a new body, that of an eagle, or what an eagle might be with lashing snakes for a tail and fire licking at the edges of its hooked beak. Its clawed feet, outstretched, grasped only at empty air. With a disappointed screech, it changed course and came hurtling right at him, spitting fire and brimstone. Even the green, red-striped snakes were hissing at Vergil, small black tongues darting in and out of their mouths. Behind it, abandoned by the dragon's spirit, the harpy and griffon crumpled to the ground, shells discarded at whim. Vergil put his damaged arm protectively over his eyes, Yamato poised and waiting in the other hand. The other statues joined its fellows on the ground; the eagle's aura intensified, its power rippling into all the planes available to Vergil's sight. The guardian was channeling all its hate and desire for vengeance into its host's body, using it as a focal point.

An audible thrumming filled the air as the eagle dived. A spasm twisted Vergil's face, his teeth gritted as he dropped his sword and grabbed his arm. His lips were white with the strain. The guardian, through the eyes of the eagle, saw fear blossom, sweet to watch in its agonizing slowness. The guardian loosed a burning, horrible shriek of triumph—

Vergil was gone, and so was Yamato. The half-demon could move very fast when he wanted, though it had cost him. The eagle relaxed its dripping talons, and three bloodied fingers fell to the floor. With another unearthly cry, the eagle spun about frantically, followed by the monstrous host of demons, their walk ungainly and awkward, as the guardian exerted its maximum power over them. The dragon's sleek head snaked back, mouth open in a fierce snarl. But it was too late, and Vergil was too near—

The blade was buried up to its hilt in the dragon's neck. With a wince, Vergil uncurled his ruined hand from Yamato and looked almost ruefully at the bleeding stumps of his fingers. Blood stained Yamato's previously pristine hilt and blade, pooling together with the black fluids seeping from the wound. The dragon writhed, its flat eyes igniting with fresh hatred, silver fire brimming in its gaping jaws. Vergil stepped forward, ignoring the thrashing tail, and twisted the blade viciously. The dragon let out a wail, and drooped. Its long body slithered away from the stalactite with a suddenness that startled Vergil. He seized Yamato with a white-knuckled grip and hung on for dear life as the dying dragon dropped to the ground. Even in its dying throes it was magnificent, its ruby eyes rich as jewels, its form smooth and beautiful for a creature capable of such destruction. More fire bubbled through its throat, aimed with malicious intent.

Vergil extricated his sword, and drove it into the roof of the guardian's mouth. The guardian screamed again, thin and anguished, as the fire remained trapped in its throat, blocked by pain. Vergil withdrew Yamato, and his actions born of a fury he had not known he possessed, he attacked the flailing body ruthlessly. Chips of rock flew under his assault. After a while, when the dragon had stopped moving, and its motion was due only to the force with which Vergil hit it, the living statues stood transfixed. Stricken by an invisible hand, they disintegrated to dust in the blink of an eye. When Vergil re-opened his eyes to the world again, the cavern was covered, cloaked in dust and ash, and the second measure lay sundered, revealing a dark portal that beckoned invitingly.

Vergil laughed. He laughed until he had to sit down and draw breath from exhaustion. Still, the echo of his laughter came back to him, victorious, triumphant. Darkness reached out to claim him, and he fell headlong into its soothing embrace, grateful and worn beyond belief.

His wounds would mend, his body would recover. All that mattered now was that he was one step closer to accomplishing his goal.

_**end of Chapter Three.**_

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Hope ya have enjoyed it! Sorry for the lack of updates.

Yours, T. Axile. )


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